coney island
by AGENT Kuma-chan
Summary: You're not most people, Steve told her. Well, that was one thing he got right. -Natasha, Steve


**Title:** coney island

 **Prompt:** steve/natasha, fluff

 **A/N:** for the ssromanogers exchange, for mylifeisloki. I hope you like it!

 **Summary:** _You're not most people, Steve told her._

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"Hmmm…" Steve Rogers poured over the newspaper, quietly humming to himself as he flipped from page to page. He sipped a cup of coffee, occasionally stopping to take a bite from his piece of toast or single fried egg. It was a terribly old-fashioned image, but Steve had always been an old-fashioned guy.

It was both terribly amusing and endearing to see these bygone habits in him. Natasha glanced at him over her phone. If it weren't for Stark forcing him to wear something modern, she imagined his fashion sense would have been stuck in the 1930s as well. Maybe that was why he preferred print to digital—it was one of the few things that hadn't changed over the past century.

With her own cup of tea, she slid into a seat at the kitchen island. Mornings were always quiet in the Avengers' headquarters. Stark was somewhere sleeping off his latest hangover, Thor and Hulk were off grid again, and whoever else was still in the building wouldn't stir for another hour or two. At six am, there were usually only three people awake and unfortunately, Clint was home. It was hard to find a reliable sparring partner.

"An amusement park," Steve muttered, finally looking up the newspaper. Catching her eye, he asked, "Coney Island still has one?"

"Yes." Natasha lips quirked, amused. She stood corrected; there was another thing that hadn't changed. "Though it might be bigger than you remember."

"A lot of things are," he commented wryly, glancing out the floor length windows. "Actually, everything is."

Natasha stifled the urge to laugh. She remembered having that same feeling when she first came to America, at seeing how plentiful it was compared to Russia back then. "Does that include you?"

He stared at her for long moment before realization slowly dawned on his features. Chuckling, he patted his arms. "I guess so." He squinted at her. "I didn't think there were many photos of how I use to look. How'd you find them?"

"I'm a spy," she answered simply, her lips curved into a small smile.

"You know that doesn't answer anything." When she didn't add anything, he shrugged and turned back to his paper again. His fingers traced something before he finally folded it up. His expression bright, he turned to her, "Let's go to Coney Island."

She held up her cup delicately, just barely touching her lips. Her brow raised. "You want to go to an amusement park?"

"To see how things have changed." Steve smiled disarmingly, more and more into the idea with every second that passed. "The rides all have to be different, at the very least."

"In a manner of speaking." Natasha shrugged, taking a sip of tea. Peppermint. Clint must have bought it. "I think you'll enjoy it." When he was still staring at her expectantly, she frowned. "You want _me_ to go to an amusement park."

"There's no one else here," he pointed out dryly. Pointing out the window, he grinned cheerfully. "It's also a good day."

"Tomorrow is also a good day." It was the least convincing argument she'd ever heard, and she had to listen to a drunk Stark. There were others in the building who were better candidates for this—a _sober_ Stark, Clint, hell even Vision was probably more sociable than she was. Natasha's hand rested on the table, gently drumming the wood. "Next."

"Everything is like this with you," Steve sighed but despite his words, he didn't look put out. If anything, his grin grew broader as he tapped his chin. "Hmm…think of it as reconnaissance practice."

"Do I look like I need that?" Her brow rose, almost challenging him to say otherwise. Natasha stuck a fork out and stole a bit of his egg. Bringing it to her lips, she added, "That was a rhetorical question."

"I guessed as much." Steve pulled his plate further away from her, a reproachful glare at her fork. "Then think of it as reconnaissance practice for me. I'd stick out like a sore thumb if I have to investigate Coney or any other amusement park and spent my time gawking."

"You stick out regardless," she retorted. "And that's the same argument."

Ignoring her, he added, "And since you don't need the practice, you could give me some pointers."

"Pointers." Natasha took another sip from her cup. "Do I look like a teacher?"

"A mentor?" Steve suggested.

"Try babysitter." She set down he cup anyways. Lacing her fingers together, she stared at him intently. He was being surprisingly stubborn about this, more insistent than she'd expected. Then again, she'd seen how he'd looked at her for the past few weeks. A master of body language, she had an inkling of where this was going. "You want to go with me."

"Was I that obvious?" Steve teased, clearly amused. "I was only asking three times."

Rolling her eyes, she clarified, "As a date. Which, you know, is what most people would call this." A little blunt, perhaps, but she found that was most effective with him.

"I'd call it that too," he replied just as honestly, catching her off-guard with an innocent smile. "But you're not most people, so I figured you'd need an excuse."

Natasha snorted. "The only thing right was that I'm not most people." Resting her chin in one hand, she stared at him. "Alright."

Despite his words, the answer caught him off-guard. Steve blinked. "Really?"

"It is a nice day," she agreed, getting up. "And you do need practice if that's how you ask someone out."

"Great." Steve broke out into a wide smile, rising from his seat. A simple man with simple wants, it was always easy to provoke a smile.

Somehow, that didn't bore her as much as she'd expected it to. Her lips quirked. Resting a hand on her hip, she added, "If this is practice, we'll have to do a real one later."

His smile grew even wider. Entirely too easy.


End file.
